


Normal

by WinterCicada



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Basically everyone is in this - Freeform, Child Abduction, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Anal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know what I'm doing here, Levi trying to figure shit out, M/M, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Rivaille - Freeform, Smut, Swearing, abused levi, but smut isn't really the point, marco ain't dead, mikasa/jean - Freeform, non-binary hanji, pedophile - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5914996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterCicada/pseuds/WinterCicada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I curled up next to him and he put on a movie that I didn’t give any attention to. We held hands while I worked on my homework. Normal. </p>
<p>Levi's little corner of the world shatters abruptly. The problem is trying not to look back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loveliest in My Invisible

**Author's Note:**

> Err, I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to say about this. I've got several chapters mostly finished, but really no endgame in sight and I'm at a bit of a block. There might be plot holes the size of Texas and research is minimal to none. What a rousing endorsement, I know. But..... fuck it. Here goes nothing.

“I can’t stay,” I stated plainly, methodically slipping my homework into a folder and tucking notebooks into my book bag. 

Hanji sighed in their predictably melodramatic fashion, arms akimbo. Equally predictably, Erwin’s ridiculous eyebrows drew together. 

“Leviiiiiii,” Hanji complained. 

“You never can stay. Just this once? Pretty please?” 

“My dad is expecting me home,” I replied tersely, tucking my mechanical pencils into a pouch before hefting the strap of my bag onto my shoulder. I was tired of disappointing them. 

“How come your dad never lets you hang out with your friends?” Erwin asked, getting to the crux of the problem, per usual. 

“He’s paranoid. He worries about me. I don’t think meeting Hanji would make him any less worried, to be honest.” 

I waved a lazy bye to them, already striding to the black car waiting at the curbside, ready to pick me up. As always, I opened the back passenger door first to put my black bag on the seat before closing it and slipping into the shotgun. Routine. 

“Have a good day at school?” dad asked, checking over his shoulder before pulling away from the curb. 

His voice was mellow and smooth, like molasses. He was in a good mood. He generally was. 

“It was fine.” 

I was looking out my window, to the fading scene of Hanji making explosive hand gestures and Erwin nodding slowly, indulging them with his patience. 

“That’s good. I was thinking about a pesto pasta tonight. Sound alright?”

“Can we have garlic bread with it?” I still was looking out the window, splitting my attention.

“With parmesan on top. You got it.”

I caught myself absently fingering the grey weave of my seatbelt, still thinking about Hanji and Erwin. 

The drive home was only ten minutes, and passed by quickly. The house wasn’t large, but it was ample for the two of us. Three bedrooms, an up-to-date kitchen, two bathrooms, small living room, two-car garage. It also had a basement, which was unusual for a California home. While the house was modest, the property it sat on was rather sizable, giving us a respectable cushion from our neighbors. Stone walls fenced us in on three sides, and a curving iron fence closed us in on the front. It was a decidedly suburban, unassuming home that suited the two of us just fine.

My dad eased the car into the garage and I made to get out, but his hand on my shoulder paused me. 

“Something up, Levi?”

I shrugged, feeling the warm weight of his hand resting on my shoulder. There wasn’t really anything I felt like saying. 

“I’m your dad, Levi. I can tell when you have something on your mind.”

When I didn’t make to reply, the hand came off my shoulder to grab lightly at my chin, turning my face towards him.

A stranger might call him nondescript at first, but decide he was handsome if they gave him a second look. He was rather tall and slender, but had a good build. He smiled easily, but his eyes looked a little more discerning. His hair was black, and skin pale but not unhealthy looking. No matter what, his body always moved in a way that seemed as if it were at ease in its environment. In control. 

I met his gaze for a moment, but looked away quickly. He had a way of gazing at me that were as if he already knew what I was thinking, and was merely indulging me in a childlike game in bothering to ask. No other adult, or really any person at all had his kind of effect on me. When he was in the room, I never felt like I was the one in full control of a situation. Sometimes I wondered if that’s what everyone felt about their parents. 

“Just… lonely,” I confessed, wanting to get this over with. 

He hummed in his throat with a smile, belying his happiness at me being forthright. 

“It’s normal to feel lonely from time to time, you know. You’re sixteen. You’re working through all that teenaged angst.” 

I couldn’t help but to roll my eyes.

“See? Rolling your eyes at your dad. Typical teenager. Your hormones are out of balance. Your brain is still developing. The loneliness will pass when you get older, but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me when you’re feeling down. I was a teenager once, too.”

His hand had dropped, but came up to grasp my shoulder again. 

“Levi. Do you want me to make you feel less lonely?”

I paused in consideration, feeling his warm hand massaging my shoulder. I felt my heart beat in my chest for several moments. My hands pulled at the hem of my shirt. I gave one quick nod and leaned towards him over the center console. He met me halfway with a tender kiss. 

OoOoOoOoO

I sort of knew that it wasn’t normal. I never saw people doing this sort of thing with their moms or dads. Not even on TV or in the shitty textbooks in the shitty mandatory health education class you take freshman year. 

Only little kids slept in their parents’ bed, and only when they had nightmares. I had my own bed in my bedroom, but I couldn’t remember ever actually sleeping in it. 

“Daddy? Dinner is ready!” I yelled down the hallway, carrying the bowl of hot pasta to the dinner table. 

That was another thing. Nobody actually called their dads “daddy.” Granted, it was only something I did when it was just him and me around, but I had seen no indication that others did that even in their private lives. 

As I made a second trip to the kitchen to get the garlic bread, muscled arms wrapped around my abdomen from behind and a kiss was planted on my temple, and I felt my brooding mood drift away. Maybe it wasn’t normal, but it felt normal. This was our normal. 

“Mmm. Nothing I like more than my baby boy acting all domestic,” he chuckled into my ear, swaying us side to side. 

I scoffed, but leaned my head back against his shoulder. He kissed twice at my exposed neck before suckling, careful not to leave a mark. With a sigh and a look that promised more later, he reluctantly let go. He took the cheesy garlic bread from my hands, but not before taking a quick grab of my ass that tugged a small smile from me.

We mostly dined in comfortable silence. I considered bringing up the subject of being able to spend time with my friends, but ultimately decided against it. It was a surefire way to start an argument, and I didn’t have the energy for one. We rarely argued, but when we did, it was always about this. I wasn’t allowed to go to birthday parties or accept invites to the beach or to the movies or to any kind of social gathering. No joining band, or playing sports or going to summer camps. Dad always said it was for my safety. I tried to not let it get to me, but it did. I could tell he didn’t even like me going to school. I suspected that if he didn’t have to work, he’d try to keep me homeschooled. Other parents definitely didn’t do this. 

When I was younger, we moved around a lot, so I didn’t have any real friends. I didn’t get invited to many events, and it didn’t bother me because I’m not the most sociable, especially when it comes to people I don’t know all that well. When I was thirteen, we stopped moving around and that’s when I met Hanji and Erwin. They grew on me. It wasn’t long before I wanted to hang out on the weekends. Dad wasn’t having it. We argued loads, but he wouldn’t budge. I’m still not particularly sure why he doesn’t like me to have a social life, seeing as ‘safety’ is such a bullshit answer, but by now I know it’s not a fight I’m going to win. 

Pesto was a good choice for dinner. We chatted lightly about nothing in particular as I rinsed the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher and he wrapped up the leftovers and wiped down the counters. Afterwards, we both took to the sofa. I curled up next to him and he put on a movie that I didn’t give any attention to. We held hands while I worked on my homework. Normal. 

OoOoOoOoO

“Turn that shit off.”

Hanji looks at me, a frown marring their androgynous features. 

“What? Why?”

It’s lunch right now, and due to a rare rainy day, the teachers have opened up their classroom for students to eat in. We picked Shadis’ classroom, figuring correctly it’d be relatively uninhabited. Idiots don’t realize that Shadis would be taking his lunch in the teacher’s lounge anyway.

Hanji decided that the television in the room ought to be turned on, and now the gross, low-res dusty screen is displaying an AMBER alert. Some little girl from the town over went missing this morning, apparently. 

“Because it’s fucking depressing,” I reply dryly, taking a spoonful of soup from my thermos. 

“But it’s important! The more people know about her, the more likely she’ll be found.”

I can’t help but to scoff. 

“They find the kid like three percent of the time. In half of the cases, they find them brutally murdered and the remainder they never fucking find at all. The alerts are only ever remotely relevant to people like waitresses or gas station attendants or people who were in the vicinity of the abduction. Chances are the girl is already fucking dead.” 

I fucking hate hearing about missing kids. The whole thing pisses me off. It only ever happens because of neglectful caregivers or pedophiles or some combination thereof. No matter how it ends it’s still a tragedy. Fucking disgusting and depressing as all hell. 

“Jesus, Levi. Tell us how you really feel,” Erwin says, looking somewhat perturbed by my blatant, morbid statements. 

I flip him off in my usual friendly manner and go back to eating my lunch. I can’t help it if my eyes occasionally flick up to look at the grainy photo of a cheerful eight year old, smile missing a couple of baby teeth and cheeks flushed pink with youthful exuberance. 

OoOoOoOoO

Hanji and Erwin may be my best friends, but I do have others. There’s Petra and Auruo and so on. They’re not total idiots, so that makes them far more tolerable than the rest of the general populace, despite their quirks. 

Petra, to no one’s surprise, decides to volunteer for the group combing the woods in search for the missing girl, Linda Roberts. Everyone knows it’s unlikely that the girl is missing in the woods, but people like Petra are desperate to find ways to help. Due to her tenacity, loads of people get roped in. 

I, of course, have to decline. Regardless of hating the idea of trekking through the muddy woods, I wouldn’t actually mind being part of the search party. I’m not a total heartless bastard.

The reason I can’t go is because of my dad. He won’t even let me walk a mile down a well-trafficked road to the convenience store by myself, for paranoia that I’d get shanked or some shit. Like hell he’d ever let me walk around in a wooded area surrounded by complete strangers looking for a missing kid. I don’t even bother asking him if I can go. 

I lay in bed that night, curled up in the warmth of my daddy, feeling his breath ghost over the back of my neck and I feel safe. 

Hanji lets me know the next morning that the girl is still missing. 

OoOoOoOoO

I know I’m adopted, but I honestly don’t think about it much. Dad says he adopted me when I was five, after my parents both died in a car crash.  
I only have vague impressions about my life before then. Like memories of memories. I think I recall a minty green-walled room with my crib. Sometimes I think I can remember being picked up to be sat on broad shoulders to see over a crowd. A soft voice humming to me. 

I know most people have more memories from being four or five years old, but mine just aren’t there. Dad thinks I blocked it out because of the trauma of being in the car crash. I don’t really care to know. That life isn’t relevant to me anymore. 

Dad and I look similar enough that people assume he’s my biological dad, and I don’t bother correcting them. When people ask about my mother, I simply tell them she died when I was very young. 

We almost never talk about it, but I remember once my dad telling me that at first it wasn’t easy for me to make the adjustment. 

“You were something of a difficult child at first. Very stubborn. Eventually you realized that I was truly your parent. I, on the other hand, knew immediately that you were my son.”  
I remember feeling really frustrated and confused, but looking back I can’t pinpoint exactly why. Logically, I can guess that any child would have difficulty adjusting to the death of their parents and having to live in a new home, but… 

This is why I don’t dwell on being adopted. It’s stupid to concern myself with pointlessness. My parents are dead. I didn’t have any other suitable relatives to look after me. Now I have a great dad who takes great care of me. End of fucking story. 

OoOoOoOoO

Hanji is suddenly intrigued by the phenomenon of child disappearances. Not surprising. Their inquisitive mind often picks up subjects of uselessness to obsess over. They talk day in and day out about predator profiling and suspect canvassing and sex offender registries and famous cases. Usually Erwin and I share commiserative looks at each other while they go off, but this time Erwin is actually showing interest. 

“You’re shitting me, right?” I ask of him when he starts engaging Hanji in discussion. 

“You know I’m interested in pursuing a career in law enforcement. This is actually relevant,” he replies. 

Hanji is interested in crime scene investigation. Frankly, I think they’re the sort of maniac who would be more likely to be the source of crime scenes. I’ve been debating between also going with law enforcement, joining the military, or dicking around the college scene and waiting until then to decide what I really want to do. My grades are excellent, so my options are open. 

OoOoOoOoO

“Oh god Daddy yes,” I moan, clutching the sheets with one hand and bracing myself against the headboard with my other. 

He chuckled in a low rumble and readjusts his grip on my hips before picking up the pace of his thrusts. I can’t get enough of his hands on my body. Fucking big and warm, steadying me.

The only sounds in the room are those of the bed creaking, the wet slap of his skin against mine, and my pleasure-fed whimpers. 

My cock hangs down red, weeping, and ignored, but that’s okay. I’m going to cum without being touched, just like my daddy wants me to. 

“That’s my good baby boy,” he praises me when I clench desperately around his girth buried deep inside me. 

I’m crying, but I like it. I honestly fucking do. I like when my daddy pushes me around and tells me what to do and how to do it. I like it when he’s rough with me. Being vulnerable is such a rush. 

At school I’m an aloof son of a bitch who doesn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I’m Levi fucking Ackerman and I’m in control. 

In bed, I’m daddy’s baby boy. Obedient. I can stop having to be in charge and trust that he’s going to take good care of me. He always does. 

His pace is even and harsh, and his cock is sliding hot and heavy against my prostate time and again. My thighs spasm and I scream as he yanks me back onto him balls deep, trying to stuff himself as far into my small body as he can go. It’s so sudden and well timed that my climax is fucking wrenched out of me.

He’s still holding me by my hips as the tension of my body unclenches and I melt into a pile of quivering limbs. But he hasn’t finished. 

“Good?” he asks, carding a hand through my hair. 

Whatever pathetic sound escapes my lips isn’t even trying to be words, but it at least sounds affirmative. 

Satisfied, my daddy pulls out and flips me over, only to slam back in with bruising force. It brings fresh tears to my face. My ankles are hooked onto his shoulders and I don’t have anything to do but take it. 

This is what he likes. Seeing my face as he reduces me a sobbing pile of sex. Post orgasm, I’m feeling extra sensitive. The aching pleasure is a sensory overload. I wouldn’t think it was fucking possible, but he ramps up again as he starts to reach his own climax. Again, he buries himself in as deep as he can, and I can feel his cock pulse in me and then the sensation of hot liquid gushing follows. 

And fuck if I don’t cum dry. 

Vaguely, I’m aware of him unhooking my legs and being twisted around his dick and then we’re spooning, his dick still inside me. 

We’re lying in the cum I spent earlier, but I’m warm and exhausted and I can’t find it in me to give a damn.


	2. Like an Undesired Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat's out of the bag. Levi is in for some hard truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having never been an abducted child nor having any sort of professional education on the matter, I can only say that you really oughtn't expect any degree of accuracy from my portrayal.

Two months pass by and Erwin pulls me aside at lunch, saying he wants to talk in private. I have no idea what it’s about, but I follow him readily as he leads me behind the P.E. changing rooms where we’re totally alone.

I look at him expectantly, arms crossed, but he looks uncharacteristically nervous and clears his throat.

“Fucking spit it out already. If we take too long Hanji is probably going to sneak weird chemicals into our lunch.”

“Err. I saw you the other day. With your dad. At the park.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, not seeing where’s he’s going with this.

Every now and then dad and I will take a walk in the evening. Usually we’ll trail through the local park, which features a natural stream. I knew Erwin lived nearby, so it wasn’t strange to hear that he had seen us passing through.

“And? Someti-“

“-Levi, he was kissing you. You were kissing each other.”

It’s like the whole fucking world falls out from under my feet.

Before I can even try to hold my cool I can feel the blood draining from my face and my eyes going wide. I can see Erwin’s reaction to my reaction and I know I’m trapped.

And it’s worse yet because I remember that goddamned kiss. We had taken our walk later than usual and hadn’t seen anybody walking the path. I had slipped my hand into his on a whim. Dad had been the one to push me up against the tree. Shit shit shit shit _fuck_. Both of his hands had been grabbing at and cupping my ass.

“Just… fuck off, Erwin,” I mutter.

I can’t look him in the eye and I move to walk away. My whole body feels cold and numb. I think I might be sick. Actually be sick onto this disgusting, stupid high school gum-spotted sidewalk.

Erwin grabs my arm.

“Don’t _do_ this, Levi. It’s not okay. He’s taking advant-“

“- _Shut up_! You don’t understand… It’s not…”

“Don’t try to sell me that shit. I’m going to help you with this. Just come with me and we’ll-“

“-I’m not going _anywhere_. I’m dead serious, Erwin. It’s none of your business.”

“Like _hell_ it isn’t. You’re my friend, Levi. I can’t let him do this to do. It’s _sick_ and you’re not seeing it because he’s manipulating you.”

I pull out of his grasp and start running.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Between classes I text my dad to see if he can pick me up right as school ends. He does. I flee to the safety of the car before Erwin can find me. He has nothing to say that I want to hear.

We drive straight home and I find myself climbing over the console onto his lap as he’s turning off the engine. And then we’re kissing in the privacy of the dimly lit garage. I relish the sensation of his tongue dominating my mouth and the subtle sandalwood of his aftershave. It’s my _daddy_ and he _loves_ me. He takes _care_ of me.

“So _this_ is why you wanted to be picked up early. Baby boy was craving his daddy, hmm?”

I press my lips back to his so that I can feel the coy grin on his face instead of just seeing it. My arms drape themselves around his shoulders.

He carries me down the basement stairs, my legs encircling his waist. This is where we keep our toys. This is where we come to forget everything else.

“Daddy _please_. I want… I want....”

“Hush, now. I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry.”

A calloused hand grips playfully at the nape of my neck.

It’s just the two of us. Everything else I push out of mind.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Waking doesn’t feel like waking. Everything is hazy and I’m not confident that I know where my body begins and ends. I’m on the basement bed, I know. Beyond that, I figure daddy slipped something extra into the drink he mixed me. Good. That’s what I wanted.

I become a little more aware of myself, and realize that I have on one of my costumes. Something that’s mostly lace, since it’s vaguely itchy against my skin. I can’t see it though, because I’m covered by a thick, heavy blanket. It’s a reassuring feeling. I’m being cared for.

But where is daddy? I let my head flop to the side but he isn’t in the room. There are lots of faint, unfamiliar noises from outside. I don’t know what’s going on.

The minute of consciousness slips away.

**OoOoOoOoO**

“Not three months have passed since the AMBER alert on still missing Linda Roberts was posted, when another tragedy has struck the children of our community.

“Police received an anonymous tip yesterday afternoon that a sixteen year-old student attending Maria High was being sexually abused by his father, Kenneth Ackerman.

“A police officer and social worker were immediately dispatched to the Ackerman residence, where Kenneth refused law enforcement entry to check on the child.

“Routinely, Child Protective Services conducted a background check, and were immediately alarmed to discover that there was no adoption record of any kind for the name listed: Levi Ackerman, despite school records listing Kenneth Ackerman as the child’s adoptive father.

“While the extent of the paperwork discrepancies were still unclear, law enforcement was issued a warrant for the protective detainment of the child.

“Returning to the Ackerman household, Ackerman responded with gunfire. Two officers were injured in the confrontation, but were mostly unharmed due to bulletproof vests.

“Ackerman has communicated over the telephone minimally with the authorities, threatening the life of the hostage teenager should the police attempt to enter the house. The status of the teen’s health is still presently unclear.

“As you can see behind me, the siege is still continuing. Police have secured the area, with more than a dozen officers, two police choppers, medical team, and an assortment of FBI personnel. Authorities are in debate over whether or not to bring in a swat team.

“Over the hours, what’s had been dubbed as “Levi’s Case” has only produced more questions. Authorities have relayed that there is no such person by the name of Levi Ackerman even remotely fitting the child in question’s description. No birth records or social security identity exist. Reportedly sixteen years of age, Levi has been attending Maria High since his freshman year, and prior to this attended Shiganshina Middle School since age thirteen. Before this, six other schools across the west coast have reports of brief attendance, dating back to his being six years of age.

“Professionals say these constant moves are characteristic of the few child abductors who seek to keep their victims.

“Kenneth Ackerman is on court record as having been tried for extortion, but received a not guilty verdict as two of the primary witnesses died mysteriously under police protection. Officials have stated that the man has an international criminal record, but the extent is unclear at the present time.

“Not quite twenty-four hours into the siege, “Levi’s Case” has become the nation’s biggest news, with the president delivering a short statement early this morning offering his support to the community. Rallies in major cities across the states are cropping up calling for harsher punishment for sex offenders and more increased funding to child safety programs.

“Yet, the biggest question still remains, unanswered by civilians and authorities alike: Who is Levi Ackerman?”

**OoOoOoOoO**

When I wake up again I’m only marginally more aware. I still can’t move very well, but now I can think mostly coherently. I look around the basement, but dad still isn’t here. After a moment, I realized that loud sounds from the ground floor are what woke me. Sounds like yelling. Weird. Clock on the wall says it’s six twelve. My first thought is that I could probably still sleep for another hour before I need to go to school.

But then I just kind of sit and think for a minute and try to figure out why that sounds wrong. After a moment it hits me that I’m too jacked up to go to school. Dad’s going to have to call me out sick. But then I realize something else. I don’t think it’s six twelve in the morning. I think it’s six twelve in the _evening_. I can’t really place why I think that. The basement doesn’t have any windows that could clue me in through the lighting. It’s just my body telling me that it isn’t the morning.

And then suddenly the door at the top of the stairwell fucking explodes inward. A shout is shocked out of me, but in my state it comes out as a wheeze.

Two men in black vest labelled FBI burst in, hands on guns still holstered. Two men in navy blue police uniforms follow. I’m pretty sure I look really stupid, gaping at them.

But that doesn’t matter because this is clearly some kind of weird as fuck hallucination side effect from the drugs.

My visions swims a bit and then I have a hand on my forehead. It’s warm and feels nice, but it isn’t daddy’s hand. I’m confused.

The man has blond hair cut short and is saying things. He knows my name. He keeps saying Levi. I’m… lost.

A stretcher is brought down the narrow stairs, as I look on absently. A police officer tugs the blanket off me and I moan from the sudden contact of cold air washing over my warm skin. Somebody swears and they all look at me funny for a moment before the man rushes to put the blanket back.

I let my eyes shut, trying to block out the light of the room and the mesh of unfamiliar voices.

As they transition me to the stretcher, I finally realize that this is really and truly fucking happening. Police have come to the house and they’re taking me somewhere and my dad isn’t around. I want to tell them that I’m fine and I’m not injured or anything, but the words don’t come out.

They get me up the stairs pretty easily and then I’m being led out of the house head first. I hear what sounds like broken glass getting crushed between boots and wooden floor and I grimace. I fucking hate messes. They better have not made a mess in daddy’s bedroom…

We pass out the front door. The first thing I notice is that I was right. It _is_ evening. The second thing I register is what seems to be the flashing of a thousand cameras and lots of yelling. Makes my head fucking ring. In moments, I’m loaded into what I can only assume is the back of a brightly lit ambulance.

Confused and mildly nauseous, I decide that I’m too fucked up for this shit and let my eyes shut once more. I’ll sort this crap out later.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Waking up is one holy mess. The drugs have largely flushed themselves out, but waking up without knowing where I am is a distinctly unfamiliar and disorienting sensation. Finally recognizing myself as being in a hospital room only makes it worse. There’s a fucking drip hooked up to my left arm and there’s a weird grey plastic clip thing with a cord covering my right index finger.

I’m wearing a hospital gown and tucked under a shitty thin beige sheet.

And my dad isn’t here.

I’m in a hospital room and my dad _isn’t_ here?

And my mind instantly makes like eighteen connections in rapid succession and then I’m swearing loudly and enthusiastically.

Erwin. Erwin fucking said something and the police came I was too drugged up to act normal and deny anything and my dad tried to cover bases but the police weren’t having it.

Shit all. There were _cameras_. People took cunt-fucking _pictures_ of me being rolled out of my house by police on a motherfucking stretcher.

Suddenly like six doctors are in the room and trying to stop me from removing the drip and climbing out of bed. I’ve already flung off the grey finger clip into a corner of the room and have one leg slung over the side of the bed.

“Levi! Levi, please, try to relax. You’re safe here!”

“Bullshit! I want my dad!” I growl, shoving a man back by his shoulder when he started to put his hand on my elbow.

Maybe the drugs aren’t totally out of my system because I still feel kind of weak. If they weren’t, I’d punch a few of these assholes in the throat.

I don’t miss the shitty look the doctors exchange, silently trying to figure out amongst themselves how to answer my demand. I can’t stand doctors. I’ve never been in a hospital before and I already know I hate them.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible right now, Levi. But rest assured you are in the finest care that-“

“He was fucking arrested, wasn’t he?” I demand to know. I’m not going to beat around the bush.

“Kenneth Ackerman was taken into custody yesterday afternoon. It’s very early on Friday morning right now,” a man says from behind the wall of medical personnel, pulling his way over to the shitty excuse this hospital calls a bed.

He’s wearing slacks, a white button up, and a navy blue tie. He looks like he could play a fed in a bloody TV drama.

I give him the most unimpressed glare I can manage on the spot.

We assess each other for a moment before the man speaks.

“My name is Agent Reiner Braun. I work for the FBI on missing children cases.”

“My name is Levi Ackerman. I’m not a bloody missing child, so you can go fuck off and help someone who actually needs it,” I snark back.

At this, the man (who is built like an actual tank), tilts his head and looks at me with a face that displays a certain curiosity. He waves off the ruffled looking doctor who I shoved, who takes his staff with him as he exits the room. Hmph. Marginally better, I suppose.

There’s a moment of silence before he changes the topic.

“How are you feeling, Levi? You were pretty banged up when we found you.”

Found me. Ha. Busting down doors and forcibly taking me from my home isn’t exactly what I’d call “finding.”

“A little sore. A little weak. Give me a hot shower, a change of real clothes, a hot meal and I’ll be just fine.”

And I mean it, too. Dad wasn’t too rough and the drugs fade fast once I get up and moving.

A second man who is obviously not a doctor comes bustling in. He near knocks over a vase of flowers on his way. That coupled with his ludicrous height makes him hard to miss. In slacks and a polo, the picture comes together as a man who is not FBI or any sort of police.

He also gets a taste of my displeased facial features.

For whatever reason, Agent Braun perks at his clumsy arrival.

“Bert! You’re here. Good. Your charge is awake.”

“ _Charge_?” I question.

The giant smiles easily.

“Hello. I’m Bertolt Hoover. I’m the social worker in charge of your case. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“How many other fuckfaces am I going to have to meet before this is all done with? Let me set this straight. I don’t know what you’ve all been told, but you have it wrong. My dad isn’t… some abusive bag of dicks or whatever you think he is. He’s my dad and a fucking good one. He doesn’t hit me or starve me or… or any of the other stuff. He makes sure I get good grades and that I’m happy and shit. We’re normal,” I say far more confidently than I actually feel.

“Except for the fact that you’re covered in bruises and you have date rape drugs in your system and you were found in a rather… compromised state,” Reiner drawls.

Tall fucker shoots an annoyed look at buff fucker.

I’m spitting mad but I can’t think of a damn thing to say. If I had anything to throw and the strength to do so, I would.

I’m forced to settle with clenching my fists and meeting their gaze unwaveringly.

Bertolt meets my gaze, then draws up a chair and sits in it backwards, crossing his arms over the backrest. He gives Reiner a look. The blond sighs and takes his leave, sending a glum sort of smile my way as he’s walking out the door.

“Levi… You’re going to be in for a really rough ride. Particularly over the next few days. There are a lot of things that you need to know, and they aren’t going to be easy to hear.”

“I fucking get it. You guys got a tip off that my dad was… abusing me and shit and when you come find me I’m all fucked up. My dad won’t be allowed to take care of me anymore and is probably going to fucking prison…” It hurt fucking saying it.

My dad was _good_ to me. I _liked_ living with him. What the hell was going to happen now?

Hoover looked reluctant to say what he had to say.

“Well. That’s the surface of it, at least. But that isn’t actually the main problem right now. You see, normally when the state takes in children, we first see if they have any suitable relatives happy to take over, and if not-“

“-I’m familiar with the process. I am adopted. My dad and I aren’t blood related.”

“Yes and no. It’s true you aren’t related, but Kenneth Ackerman never actually formally adopted you.”

What? Just… what?

“There’s no adoption record for you. No child by the name of Levi Ackerman is on file, nor is there any record of Kenneth Ackerman adopting any child.”

“…And what the fuck am I supposed to take out of that?”

“We’re not entirely certain at this point, but the strongest theory right now is that you’re a victim of child abduction. There’s actually a couple that has come forth that we think are your biological parents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. I have the skeleton of chapter three and ideas for four and five.


	3. The Roots of His Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi finds the worth of friends and redefines family.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, love?”

Daddy pulls me onto his lap and I bury my face into his chest. His shirt is crisp and clean and I like the smell.

“Why did you adopt me?”

My voice is muffled from my burying my face in cloth, but he still understand my words. Quietly, I wait for him to answer.

“…I remember very clearly the first time I saw you, love. You had tripped on a curb and had bruised up your leg. You looked sad, but also very upset with yourself for having a clumsy moment. And I just knew that there was something about you that was very different from any other child I had seen. Something special. I knew immediately that you were meant to be my son. I went right ahead and adopted you.”

He kissed the top of my head. I flushed with a happy warmth.

"I love you, daddy.”

“I love you too, Levi.”

**OoOoOoOoO**

I ask Hoover to leave me alone for a while and he does.

Who the fuck _am_ I?

**OoOoOoOoO**

I’d always been somewhat prideful of myself for not being upset at having been adopted. No shedding tears for parents I couldn’t even remember. No pining over the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. I didn’t bat an eye at mother’s day. I didn’t mind not having grandparents to tell me stories or aunts to pinch my cheeks or uncles to teach me how to play sports.

Now what? I had been cheated of these things but I wasn’t sure whether or not I _felt_ cheated.

The dad that I’d loved for most of my life, over _ten years_ , had fucking _stolen me_ from my birth parents.

Jesus. I was okay with the social taboo of sleeping with my adoptive father, but now knowing that he _took_ me from my family and _lied_ to me about it? I wasn’t fucking okay with that. I mean, what kind of monster _does_ that? How can you just go and steal a little kid?

I wasn’t fucking okay with that and I was angry and hurt and confused because my heart was still telling me that he was my daddy.

I sat for a while trying to deny it all. There was just no way. Police didn’t know what they were saying. Got it all mixed up. This is my dad we’re talking about. There’s no way he kidnapped me. Completely ridiculous.

But it isn’t ridiculous. Not at all. Doubt wiggled its way in. Puzzle pieces I hadn’t realized were missing were here now, thrown in my face.

Shit I’d quietly wondered about all my life started making sense. Why we moved around so much when I was young, and why daddy didn’t like me being around other people. They were chances for people to ask questions about the quiet child with the single father. Chances I’d be recognized. He’d spirited me away. He bided his time, waiting for the search to quiet down and for me to grow up. Wanted people to forget the missing child; assume I had died.

He’d been lying to me for so long about so much. What else was he lying about that I hadn’t realized? Did he even love me or was he using me just for sex like some sick, twisted fuck?

Abruptly, I was vomiting over the side of my bed. In an instant I had a nurse holding a bucket in front of me and another was holding back my hair. I kept retching until it felt like even my guts were emptied. And then the tears came.

How had I been so fucking stupid? I had been, like, five. How does a five year old not realize they’ve been kidnapped? Apparently Levi wasn’t even my _name_. What the hell was _wrong_ with me?

**OoOoOoOoO**

Hoover suggests that we get the results of the maternity and paternity tests before I meet my supposed parents and I agree. Reiner (who I find out is actually engaged to Bertolt), manages to pull strings and gets me my cell phone. I’m inundated with texts and missed calls, mostly from Hanji and Erwin, but I ignore them for now. Instead I use the internet (fuck you, hospital rules) to find out what light I can shed on my situation.

I never thought I’d have bloody news articles written about me. It was a disturbing phenomenon.

Between Reiner, Bertolt, and the internet, I get a general grasp of the circumstances. Most parts don’t even seem real. Like my dad (fuck it fuck it fuck it) shooting at police officers and threatening to kill me if they pulled anything.

I pointedly don’t look at the parts detailing my potential parents. I’m not ready for that shit yet. The parts with interviews with my teachers and classmates make me scowl. I hate having people talk about me like they know anything. They’re all full of shit.

Bertolt says we should get the DNA test results Monday. Doctors want to keep me for at least another twenty-four hours for observation.

I’m brought food from the cafeteria but I can’t do more than poke at it.

He asks me if there is anything I’d rather eat. I shake my head, but ask if he’d get me some tea. Maybe that would help settle my stomach. He smiles goofily as goes off to find some.

About thirty seconds after he’s left the room, my door swings open and Hanji and Erwin dart in, closing the door behind them. Hanji’s in a wheelchair and Erwin is pushing it.

This I wasn’t expecting, but I probably should have been.

“What the fuck?”

Hanji leaps out of the chair and hugs me fiercely despite the awkward angle of me lying in a bed.

“Oh my _gawd_. Le _viiiii_ ,” they wail.

They’re sobbing grossly into my shoulder, but I can’t find it in me to shove them off.

I look at Erwin, but he’s looking uncharacteristically bashful, hands stuffed into his pockets and slouching the tiniest degree.

“I thought you were _dead_! They had you on a stretcher and you weren’t answering any calls and and…” the rest of their words are unintelligible and I awkwardly try to comfort them with pats on the back. Ugh. Knowing that people have been worried over me is a distinctly awkward sensation.

“I’m… fine. I was unconscious for practically the whole thing, so… yeah.”

For some reason this makes them cry even harder.

“Hanji, let him breathe for a minute,” Erwin suggests.

Reluctantly they relinquish me, but they grab my hand as they sit in the chair by my bedside. It’s embarrassing, but I let them.

“How the hell did you guys get in here?” I ask, wanting to steer the conversation before it gets even more uncomfortable.

“People tend to not ask too many questions when you look like you belong. Hence, ‘injured’ person in a hospital. Mike and Nanaba provided a minor distraction to the police and here we are.”

“Minor distraction?” I ask, amused.

“Made up something about a suspicious gift that was dropped off for you. You have a lot of them, apparently. Gifts. Lots of people sending cards and flowers and stuffed animals and stuff like that for you. You ought to know that Petra is on the verge of having a breakdown over how worried she is for you. I think she’d buy every flower bouquet in the city if she thought it’d make you feel better.”

Erwin smiles, but I can tell he has something on his mind. Not hard to guess what.

“Hey fuckface… I’m not mad at you. For… calling the police and shit. I’m… a fucking wreck right now… but I get it. Thanks for… being a friend or whatever…”

Now _I’m_ fucking blushing. Emotions and bullshit.

Erwin waves it off, but I know he understands what I mean. He’s good like that.

“What happens now, Levi?” Hanji asked, squeezing my hand lightly.

“My… social worker… they’re doing DNA tests to find out about my… parentage. Results come Monday. Getting out of the hospital tomorrow.”

“Where are you staying Sunday, then?”

I blink at the question. I hadn’t even thought about that. I can’t imagine I’d be allowed to go back to my house alone…

That’s when Hoover walks back into the room. All three of us turn to him, and he freezes at the unfamiliar faces.

“Um…”

“Ugh. Hoover, these two crazies are my friends Hanji and Erwin. Crazies, this walking tree is my social worker.”

“Uh. Bertolt Hoover. Pleased to meet you?”

“Hey Hoover. Where am I staying Saturday and Sunday night?” I interject.

He places my white mug of steaming tea onto the tray that rolls over the bed.

“The local foster care center has short stay beds. They’ll be more than-“

“Could he stay with me instead?” Erwin butts in.

Bertolt looks at him in surprise.

“I’ve known Erwin since middle school. I’d rather stay with him than in some stupid foster care bed,” I add in.

“Well… That might be alright. If I could speak to your parents and see about background checks, I’d be comfortable approving it.”

“Good. I’ll call them now.”

**OoOoOoOoO**

It ends up working out. I had met Erwin’s parents once briefly at a back to school night, but it had been little more than an introduction.

They’re good people. Erwin’s father is tall and sort of gaunt. He’s a professor of science at a local university. He’s something of a kook, but very kind hearted. Erwin’s mother is a classic beauty with long blonde hair in waves and strong curves. She’s doting, but you feel that she isn’t someone you’d want to cross, and she’s definitely not a fool. They make a weird, but charming couple. Both check out with CPS for a two night stay.

“What are you going to do if the DNA tests come out negative?” Erwin asks as I’m marveling over his bedroom.

I’ve never been in a friend’s bedroom before and it’s bizarre. This is something normal friends are supposed to do.

“Don’t know. Probably get shoved into foster care while they keep trying to figure out who I am. I’m a minor. What I want for myself doesn’t exactly matter…” I grumble.

I’m looking at the dresser mirror, frowning over the bruises winding around my throat and shoulders. Big, dark purple bruises that make it looked like someone tried to strangle me. Because that’s exactly what happened. Breath play. They’re so high up on my neck that it’s pointless to try to hide them. Normally I’d wear a scarf or use the heavy duty tattoo concealer that dad (not my dad but still my dad) bought me specifically for this purpose. But it’s not the right weather for a scarf and I’m not asking for my concealer. Everyone has already seen them anyway. If I cover them up it’ll just make me look more… meek. Ashamed. Like I can’t handle myself. If I own up to the marks, I don’t have to be a victim.

Nobody has made any comment but their eyes stray to them constantly. Easy to see why. They’re vicious looking.

We stay quiet for a bit.

“I think they really are your parents, Levi. I saw them in the crowd at the siege… It all matches up perfectly. They-“

“-I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You sure? Chances are you’ll be meeting them Monday. You really want to walk in blind?”

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. That’s _not_ what I want. That’s a recipe for a freak out.

“Could you maybe… just tell me the basics? The facts?”

Erwin nods.

“Their names are Jean Kirstein and Mikasa Heichou. They married young, and Mikasa kept her maiden name. They met in college, both intending to become lawyers. A year after marrying, Mikasa became pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy, which they named Rivaille Levi Heichou, reflecting their French and Japanese heritage. Jean passed the bar to become a lawyer, but Mikasa decided earlier that a career in law enforcement was more appealing. When Rivaille was four, he disappeared from a preschool playground out of the blue. There were no witnesses to the event, and no leads. The search was extensive, but the boy was never found. The couple has maintained a website dedicated to finding their missing son and have been rather vocal advocates of legal measures protecting children and programs that teach adults and children how to stay safe from predators. They’ve been successful in their professional lives. They never had any other children.”

It sounds like something you’d read out of a book. Fiction. Story time. Not real people, but characters. Names without faces.

But it’s all good things.

“Rivaille…” I try out the name. Fucking weird. Smooth and clean, but on the stuffy side. A name you’d hate as a kid, but love as you grew up. It wasn’t… totally unfamiliar. It was like I had heard it before and I blanched a bit at what that could mean.

“Rivaille Levi Heichou,” Erwin said, also trying the name on for size.

We shared a small smile.

“It’s definitely not a _common_ name. Not like _Erwin Smith_ or something,” I teased.

“It starts out sounding like a bond villain and then ends with a sneeze,” he quipped back.

I smack him with a pillow.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Sunday I would have liked to go out like a normal teenager for one and see a movie or even just bum around the mall, but the possibility of nosy journalists stops us. The whole goddamn nation still wants answers.

Instead, Erwin invites Hanji, Mike, and Nanaba over. I send Petra and the rest texts that I’m fine and that I’ll try to meet up with them when things cool down. The five of us play video games and eat through an unholy amount of the candy I was sent while in the hospital. I’m especially fond of the Costco container of chocolate biscotti. Pairs well with black tea.

Mike and Nanaba flinch when they see my bruises, but don’t say anything. I’m grateful for this.

Erwin is a _beast_ at Mario kart and Hanji is the undefeated champion of wii boxing. Mortal kombat is my game of choice. I honestly can’t remember ever smiling so much in one day.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Hoover picks me up at seven thirty AM sharp Monday morning. I say my farewells to the Smith family, thanking them sincerely for their hospitality and quietly hoping I’ll get the chance for future visits.

Erwin has to go to school. I’m not sure when I’ll be returning to school. We exchange silent looks as he departs.

In Hoover’s car, I sit on the edge of my seat, drumming my fingers on the center console. I can’t remember ever being so fucking anxious.

There’s a manila envelope on the back seat of the car. It’s obvious what’s inside.

“I haven’t looked inside yet. I’m taking you down to the office and we’ll read it there. No matter the results, we’ll have things to discuss.”

“Are… Jean and Mikasa there?” I ask.

“…They are. I’ve spoken to them. They’re very excited. And nervous.”

I nod. I feel numb and on edge simultaneously.

We arrive at the office and slip into Bertolt’s office. It’s done up in shades of yellow and accented with natural wood. Too small for his big frame. We take a seat at his desk and it feels like the blood is draining from my body. I’m not ready for this. I want my _dad_.

I clench my fists. I need to get a grip on myself.

My eyes are tracking the envelope in his right hand. I never figured my future would be held in a manila envelope.

Without ado, his big fingers undo the brad holding it closed and several sheets of paper slip from within into his open hand.

I tap my foot impatiently as his eyes scan over the documents. Brown eyes scan over the first sheet of paper before turning to the next. And then the next.

“Can you maybe fucking say something already?” I bitch at him when I can’t wait any longer.

He smiles a dippy sort of grin.

“Well, Rivaille, it seems a reunion is in order.”

**OoOoOoOoO**

I keep telling myself I’m done crying, but just when I think I’m in control, I lose it again. My… my _mom_ is holding me like if she lets go for a moment I’ll vanish entirely.

When I walked into the room she took one look at me and pulled me in. I _saw_ that she recognized me. She _knew_ me. This pale, black haired woman with a petite nose and polished appearance lit up with recognition.

And damn it all if something in me didn’t recognize her. It _felt_ like coming home.

Her embrace feels just right. This is my _mom_.

But there’s my dad, too. Ashy blond hair, commanding facial structure, and average height. It’s bizarre to think of this man as my father when just days ago it was someone else. I had a daddy, but this was _dad_.

He’s crying too and then I’m crying and I’m sandwiched between them and it makes my heart hurt.

When he smiled at me… It was my _dad_. My dad crying from finally finding the son he lost so many years ago.

It hurt my heart to think that they had been looking and hurting for so long and I didn’t even fucking know it.

“I can’t… I can’t _remember_ almost _anything_ , but...” I sob miserably, as we’re clutching tightly at one another, never wanting to let go.

Mom cradles the back of my head. I’m shaking.

“We love you _so_ much, Rivaille.”

And that’s all I really need to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Levi can try to heal. But, sometimes you have to open your wounds to clean them, lest they fester...


	4. Once, Somewhere, Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi begins to settle into his new home and family.

Hoover gives us a stack of paperwork when we leave the office. His eyes are red from crying too. There are a lot of formalities that we’ll have to go through, but that’s not what’s important right now.

I’m one hundred percent emotionally drained. I can’t stop my hands from shaking. We hurry to their car, avoiding journalists with their cameras as much as we’re able. I lean against mom the whole way to their house. Mom. _My_ mom. I have a _mom_.

As it turns out, at the time of my kidnapping, we lived a city over from where I’d been living these past several years. Kenny had shuffled us around until he figured I was old enough to not get recognized and then moved us back into the general area. A couple years back my real parents had moved into the hills between the two cities. Ultimately, it only tacked on another seven or eight minutes of drive time to my school; well within reasonable distance. I wouldn’t have to leave my friends or anything.

The house is large and beautiful. It has a modern style, with large windows and a bold architectural design without feeling in the least over the top or unnatural. The driveway is long and the lawn thick and rich green. Birch trees dot the area, giving it a lovely, cool effect.

The front door is a dark shade of green that matches the eaves and the accents around the windows. Dad unlocks the door and mom guides me inside.

I stand just inside the doorway to take my shoes off and place them on a shoe rack to my left. The sight of them there between the unfamiliar pairs gives me pause for a moment, and I feel a pleasant warmth blooming in my gut.

The house is just as lovely on the inside, but for different reasons. It doesn’t look like a house from a home goods catalogue. It looks like actual people live in it. The coasters stacked on the coffee table aren’t part of a matching set and the rug just inside the door is worn with use, but clean. The house is well loved.

“This is your home now, Rivaille,” dad says gently, gesturing for me to continue in.

Tentatively, I step into the living room. Photos on the mantle catch my eye. I go and pick one up.

“That’s you,” dad remarks, pride in his voice.

A picture of me as a toddler, gripping a cat-shaped stuffed animal in one hand and what I think is a slice of an apple in my other. I have a mischievous look about me. It’s… weird to be able to recognize myself.

Abruptly, I realize how much I look like my parents now that I see pictures of us all lined up. I look mostly like my mother, with my height and coloring. But my eyes are all my dad’s. Narrow and gunmetal grey.

“You had just said your first word that day. It was “bath.””

He chuckles at the memory and I can’t help the smile that rises up in me.

“Your mom and I thought it was a little odd how much you loved bath times, but it certainly made our jobs as parents that much easier.”

I almost want to say something stupid, like that I still enjoy personal hygiene.

“I want to remember,” I say instead.

“You were so _young_ , Rivaille. Only four. It’s okay if you never recover those memories, but we’ll help you try. Your mom and I pulled out albums with your photos and we still have all your old toys and clothes. We can all look through them together today. Sound good?”

I nod, but there’s something.

“Four? I thought I was five?”

“No. You were four. You were taken about four months before you reached your fifth birthday,” mom ( _mom_ ) adds in.

“I’m… sixteen.”

My parents look at each other. It’s a sad sort of look.

“You’re actually fifteen. Your birthday is Christmas day.”

“No, it’s… August… 18th…” I feel like a dumbass.

“That’s the day you were taken. He must have…”

He fucking changed my birthday to the day he took me. My skin is crawling.

I sit down heavily on the sofa, burying my face in my hands and suddenly my parents are both _there_. I’m pulled into mom’s side and dad is rubbing circles on my back. I don’t cry, but I’m _shaking_. It feels like rage and humiliation blended into one.

Lies. Years of lies stacked upon _lies_ and I fell for every one of them. My entire life has been built on a foundation of bullshit. I don’t even feel like a real person.

I try to let the rage wash away. This is about me and my parents, now. This is _our_ time.

When I calm down, I let them tour me around the house. It’s spacious and open and I love it. I have my own room upstairs, with windows on two of the walls overlooking the hillside and a bit of the city’s neighborhoods. The room is green. The closet and drawers are empty, but I’ve been promised shopping trips that’ll fill them up.

I think Hoover is going to work on getting my stuff released to me once the police are done documenting the house, but I don’t want much of my old stuff. My old stuff is just lies.

We spend the remainder of the morning flipping through photo albums and my baby book while curled up on the sofa.

I marvel over pictures of my mom smiling proud in the hospital, holding a newborn me. My dad hovering over me as I’m attempting to finger paint. People I’m told are relatives smiling for cameras, cooing at a chubby-cheeked _me_.

And in each one I’m smiling broadly. It’s surreal.

We all assemble sandwiches for lunch. Dad laughs when he finds out that I like provolone while mom can’t stand it. Mom smirks when we discover the opposite is true of pickles.

Mom and dad have a surprise for me after we clean up lunch.

“Christmas has always been… especially difficult. What with it also being your birthday and all… So we had something of a tradition between us. Every year we still bought you gifts,” dad explains.

I blink in surprise.

“There’s a rather large pile in the garage right now that’s begging to be opened.”

As a family we lug in a treasure trove of wrapped gifts and my voice catches in my throat. All these _missed years_ …

There are about three _dozen_ wrapped gifts, slightly dusty, and the paper fades the more dated they are.

We rearrange them so that they can be opened in order. The ones meant for the younger me are more numerous, but the gifts get more elaborate as they progress.

Action figures and toy trucks are some of the first toys. They become artist sets and model airplanes, and then movie tickets and video games and consoles. Practically every year there are books and winter coats.

Emotional drainage be damned and I’m fucking crying again. We all are.

About half the stuff I choose to leave in its original packaging and mom says she’ll see about getting it donated to a child care center.

My parents take lots of pictures, which they tell me will go into new photo albums. Our family is getting a second chance.

**OoOoOoOoO**

I wake up at the sound of a doorbell. When I open my eyes, I shoot up in bed in a panic, not recognizing where I am. After a moment passes and my memories return, I flop back down. Absently, I focus on the details of the room. The simple pattern on the hem of my curtains. The feeling of the space between my bed and the wall across from me. The natural ambient sounds and how they filter through the walls. I hear a faint, rhythmic tapping from downstairs. I recognize them as someone walking across the wood floor of the living room.

It’s somehow soothing to hear footsteps. I think they’re dad’s. The front door opens. Muffled laughter. Then, footsteps are racing up the stairs. I flinch as my bedroom doors flies open and suddenly there’s a green-eyed man grinning like mad rushing at me.

I barely have time to panic before I’m being scooped out of my bed by strong arms and swung around in circles.

“Levi Levi _Levi_!” he cackles. Then he fucking _noogies_ me like this is elementary school and suddenly _I’m_ laughing.

“Uncle Eren!” I proclaim gleefully.

What?

The name came out of nowhere. I don’t know how I know, but I _know_. This is my Uncle Eren.

Mom and dad are in the room now and all three adults seem just as surprised as I feel.

“You… you remember me?” he asks.

“Umm. I don’t think so… I don’t know how I…”

Eren merely grins and ruffles my hair. Normally I’d be pissed at a stranger doing this, but instead I’m smiling and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

“See, horseface? What’s a decade to partners in crime?”

Dad glares, but it’s good natured.

All of a sudden, more people are pouring into my bedroom, all smiles and inquisitive looks.

“Christ! Savages! Everyone out! He’s not even dressed yet!” Dad is yelling, waving everyone out.

I look to mom for answers. She has her arms crossed.

“Sorry, Rivaille. The family insisted on visiting. I wanted to give you more time to adjust, but…”

“No. That’s fine. I want to meet them.”

Dad is shoving Uncle Eren out, who is pouting melodramatically.

I pop into my bathroom and change out of my pajamas into jeans and a black T-shirt and brush my teeth and comb my hair for good measure. I prefer taking showers at night, so I’m already clean.

There’s almost a dozen people in the living room and kitchen. I _am_ nervous, but also excited. Each one has a smile just for me.

“…Good morning?” I greet to the room at large. Seems like it was the right thing to say, judging by the way those grins widen.

I learn a lot about the family over the course of the day. Mom was adopted into Eren’s family as a child. Grisha and Carla are their parents. Grisha is a doctor at a local hospital. They’re not blood related, but they’re family all the same. They encourage me to consider them as my grandparents.

Dad has an older brother named Marco, so he’s my other Uncle. He’s soft spoken, and likely the kindest person I’ve ever met. Jean also has an older sister, Historia (who prefers to go by the name Christa), who is a petite woman with a big heart. She’s married to a rather aloof looking woman named Ymir.

Besides these family members, there are several people who aren’t strictly family, but very important friends of the family.

Namely there is Armin, who apparently grew up besides Eren and Mikasa, and is now working besides Grisha at the hospital. I’m also encouraged to consider him an uncle. Then there’s Connie and Sasha, who met Eren during their stint in the military. They’re not technically married, but are still treated as domestic partners. They run a restaurant together.

Then, to my surprise, there’s fucking Braun and Hoover. Both apparently were also in the same regiment as Eren, but didn’t meet him until after my disappearance as a kid. They have a daughter named Annie, who is a rather stoic nine year old.

I find out that Ymir was also military, and it was through the family that she met Christa.

In all, my family is eccentric, but incredibly welcoming.

Besides Eren, nobody triggers any kind memory or familiar feeling, which is frustrating for me.

I get more stares concerning my neck bruises but thankfully no questions or sympathetic platitudes.

The day is spent lightheartedly. Connie and Sasha brought along barbeque materials and I’m subjected to endless photo taking.

Eren’s personality in anyone else would drive me batshit, but instead I’m finding him entertaining. He works in a dojo now, and we spend an hour on the lawn looking like idiots while I get him to teach me (and Annie, who wants to learn) a few moves. My... other dad… had taught me a fair amount of self-defense moves over the years, but it was always dirty fighting. It had come in handy once or twice against assholes at school, but I drink in Eren’s confident and structured movements. Eren ropes in Sasha and Connie to demonstrate (victims) and I’m immensely pleased to have a few new moves up my sleeves. When I nail one move that has Connie sprawling on his back, Eren claps me on the back and tells me that I’m a natural. I can’t help but to surge with pride.

Everyone must have been warned before coming over to not ask any questions about what I’ve been up to during my absence, because they don’t. Even though you can tell that they want to.

Mainly, the day is spent in storytelling, and I’m enraptured. Not only stories of me as a toddler, but Carla telling stories about the shenanigans Armin, Eren, and my mother got into when they were my age. Stories from Christa and Marco about the epic fights between Eren and Jean. Tales from Connie and Sasha about the ridiculous pranks and dares enacted in the military during down time.

When the day winds down, I have a dozen more contacts in my phone. Numbers they insist that I call whenever I feel like chatting or when I have questions and especially if I’m ever in need of help.

I can see something in their eyes when they say that part. If I ever need help. They lost me once and they’ll do everything they can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Mom and dad filled out the paperwork last night when I went to bed early and they give it to Reiner and Bert when they leave. Bert is holding an exhausted Annie, but transfers her to Reiner’s arms so that he can pull me aside.

“Holding up okay?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“That’s good. Really good.”

I shove my hands in my pockets and stare at my feet. I don’t feel like talking about whatever he wants to say. It’s not going to be anything good.

“Listen. I don’t want to be negative, but you’re likely going to have rough moments. Rough days and weeks. That’s normal. Adjustments are… gradual and painful sometimes.”

I nod. I have no illusions. I’m in the honeymoon stage. It still hasn’t… hit me yet, in some ways. There have already been several times where I’ve wanted to turn and tell my… my daddy something, only to realize…

“The case that’s being built against Kenneth Ackerman… you’re going to need to talk to some people about your time. Part of it as evidence gathering, but you’re also going to have to talk to some professionals. I have a list of psychologists that I’m going to give to your parents.”

I’m about to protest, but Hoover stops me.

“I insist that you at least give it a trial period. Trying to forget and deny your experiences isn’t going to benefit you in the long run. And so you know, both of your parents have agreed to go in for some counseling themselves.”

“Tch… fucking fine. Whatever,” I relent. I don’t want a fucking shrink.

“Good. Also, I want you to be ready to go back to school Friday. I’ve spoken with your school, and they should have you in their system properly by then. If you check your email, you should find that your teachers are keeping you up to date on your course materials. You’ll be given a reasonable amount of time to make up assignments. Other than that, try to take it as easy as you can.”

**OoOoOoOoO**

“Uncle Eren calls me Levi,” I remark absentmindedly the next day, while we’re shopping.

We’ve driven to an indoor mall three hours away to reduce the risk of getting recognized by reporters. I’m wearing an ugly-ass grey beanie to cover my distinctive undercut.

“He always thought that Rivaille was a mouthful. Do you prefer that we call you Levi?” dad questions.

I already have an answer prepared for this.

“No. I like when you and mom call me Rivaille. I still like being called Levi, though. Both are good.”

Shopping is exhausting, especially since I’m being encouraged to get an entire wardrobe. Even shoes and gloves and watches and sunglasses. Beyond clothing and accessories, they push me to choose things for my bedroom. Additional furniture, school supplies, knickknacks, you name it. About half of the day’s purchases end up having to be shipped, since they don’t fit in the car. I’m being spoiled rotten, and it’s great.

My family is great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Met a lot of people in this chapter. Eren would probably be the best uncle ever. Just saying.


	5. It Smiled at Him in Its Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumps in the road.

That night, I get my first panic attack.

I roll over in bed, seeking warmth like I do most nights. More asleep than awake, I’m looking for daddy’s arms to swallow me up.

But I realize he’s not in bed. Bathroom then. He’ll be back in a minute. I’m lulled back into sleep.

I awake a second time and daddy still isn’t there.

“Daddy?” I murmur into the total darkness of the room.

There’s no answer. My heart is suddenly racing and my breath hitches. Why isn’t he _here_?

“Daddy!”

I don’t know how many times I say it, but I’m still yelling it as the bedroom lights flick on and I’m enveloped in a warm embrace.

I fold into his warm figure with relief, but after a moment I realize that my sandalwood has been replaced with _pine_.

Oh god this isn’t my daddy _where am I_.

I’m shoving away from this person and there’s a short yell and I’m tumbling off the opposite side of the bed in a distressed jumble.

The comforter and sheets I’m tangled in mostly cushion my fall, but the impact still stuns me for a minute.

_That’s right_.

These are my parents. I’m in my new bedroom in my new home. No more _daddy_. Just mom and dad.

Mom is pulling me up, her slender hands all over me, checking for injury.

“Rivaille! Are you alright? What happened? Did you hurt yourself? _Rivaille_?”

Dad’s right at my side like mom, but he’s been stunned into silence. Damn. I run my hands over my face and through my hair. I take deeps breaths, trying to calm myself. To get my heart rate down and to keep me from shaking.

“Yeah… Yeah I’m fine I think,” I sigh.

I can’t look either of them in the eye. What the fuck just happened?

“What happened? Did you… did you have a bad dream?” Mom asks, genuinely puzzled.

I hate seeing her worried like this. I’ve been making her worried all my life, apparently.

How do I fucking answer this? I’m mortified.

“Could I… I think I need a glass of water,” I ask, instead of answering the question.

Dad goes and gets a glass while mom and I move from the floor back on to the bed. She accepts my silence for now, contenting herself with brushing stray strands of hair away from my face. Dad returns with the water and I drink down half in one go.

His worried look is just as bad as mom’s.

“I… I thought I was…” I try to explain but… it falls flat.

I thought I was back where? Back _home_? Back with my _daddy_? Everything sounds awkward. Insulting on some level.

“He had you… call him _daddy_?” Dad is speaking levelly, but the rage is seeping through his tones.

I nod, miserably. I curl into myself, clutching my water glass like it’s some kind of lifeline.

"You woke up and you were calling out… You were scared? What happened?” mom asks gently.

I’m so fucking exhausted. I feel like… giving up? Giving up what I don’t even know.

“I think… I woke up feeling cold… But he wasn’t there. He’s never… not _there_. I just… panicked…”

I feel mom tensing up.

“You shared a _bed_ …” I hear dad rasp. His voice cracks at the end. His fists are clenched.

My stomach lurches and I spring up and sprint for the bathroom. I make it to the toilet just in time to start heaving.

**OoOoOoOoO**

None of us end up sleeping any more that night, so we go downstairs where mom brews tea to settle my stomach. We watch movies half-heartedly while the sun gradually peeks up over the horizon and dine on an early morning breakfast of waffles and fruit. Everything feels like a step backwards.

I take another bath because I feel gross. Then I spend the entire morning catching up on homework. Anything to distract myself.

In the afternoon I text my friends. Tomorrow I’m going back to school and I want to know what kind of shitfest I’m in for. Erwin’s honest outlook is sort of grim. Loads of gossip and rumors going around. Apparently the teachers formally addressed the student body about the situation. Crap about not being invasive to my privacy and warnings not to say anything offense and all the other things you’d figure a school would have teachers say. Most of the school is going to treat me like glass and gossip behind my back. The rest are going to be outright antagonistic. Normally, I’d prefer the antagonism. I like dealing with problems directly. Fucking shut them down with words and sometimes fists. But that’s going to be far more difficult now with so many eyes on me. If I beat the crap out of someone I’ll get labeled unstable and a slew of other issues will follow. School is going to be a right bitch.

Hoover stops by briefly to hand off more paperwork, say a quick hello, and to drop off the mass of gifts that people are apparently _still_ sending from all over the country. Cards and stuffed animals and flowers and candies that CPS has already screened through. I gape at the collection stuffed into the back of Hoover’s car, but he laughs and says that this isn’t even half and that he’ll stop by with the rest at a later date.

“Rivaille had a panic attack last night,” mom informs him.

I’m weirdly pleased that she’s saying it openly instead of drawing my social worker aside and trying to make it all private and hidden. Hoover doesn’t seem surprised in the least.

“That’s unfortunate… Are you feeling okay now, Rivaille?”

“Yeah. Feeling okay now,” I shrug.

“I suggest you take a further look at that list of psychologists I recommended you. The sooner you get one the better. Just know that panic attacks are quite normal. Nothing to be ashamed of,” he smiles.

I can admit it. I roll my eyes. But I do see his point. That panic attack… I can’t remember ever feeling so… out of control. Control. Something I’ve always prided myself on having. I don’t like it, but I’ll give a psychologist a try.

**OoOoOoOoO**

Friday morning they’re fretting over me.

“Are you sure I packed you enough for lunch? Don’t be afraid to tell me if I packed things you don’t like to eat-“

“-Mom, I’m fine. You’re getting worked up.”

She smiles whenever I call her mom. Dad does the same.

“I know. I can’t help myself,” she admits.

“I have my phone. It’s fully charged. I have my lunch and my school work and everything I need. I can expect to be picked up right as school gets out at 2:30 in the west parking lot. I’ll text you both at lunch,” I say, dutifully repeating the plan we’ve gone over a dozen times.

Dad is going back to work today but mom is waiting until Monday before she returns.

I put my stuff on the car’s backseat and before I climb into the shotgun, mom draws me into a hug, planting a kiss at each of my temples.

She had insisted on coming with, but I persuaded her otherwise. Dad’s dropping me off on his way to work, so it wouldn’t make sense to take mom along only to have to double back to drop her off. I want to make this transition to a normal life as seamless as possible.

As we pull away, I wave to her from the window. She’s biting her lip and gripping the hem of her sweater’s sleeve with white knuckles.

I can tell dad is just as worried, but he’s less vocal about it.

When we arrive at the school and there aren’t reporters hovering, I release a breath I don’t realize I’m holding. There is a police car not-so-casually cruising around that I suspect is the reason I’m not getting assaulted with reporters.

I say bye to dad and make my way onto Maria’s campus. Everyone is staring, but I’m good at ignoring it.

The staring only gets worse when Hanji’s dulcet tones bellow my name across the quad. Not that this is anything new. It’s standard protocol for Hanji, but now everyone can’t help but make it their business.

We have ten minutes to kill before classes start for the day, so we claim a bench and Erwin finds us quickly.

Unfortunately neither are in my first period, but Petra is. She’s like an angel in disguise. Not only does she give me a copy of her tidy notes from the missed week in the three classes we have together, but doesn’t give me any of those sickening sympathy looks that I’m getting used to. She doesn’t even spare a second glance at the bruises peeking out from the high collar of my jacket.

I can do this. I can deal with this shit.

All my teachers pull me aside to ask if I’d prefer they start calling me Rivaille, but I let them know that I’d still like to go by Levi.

**OoOoOoOo** **O**            

As soon as I’ve sat down for lunch in my usual spot, I pull out my phone and send a text to mom and dad telling them I’m fine and thanks for the lunch. On a whim, I even add in a selfie (hell must have frozen over) because I know it’ll assuage them somewhat.

“What are you doing?” Hanji asks when they plop down into the seat across from me.

“Hn. Texting my parents,” I say, tucking my phone back away.

“Aww. That’s sweet.”

Nanaba is next to arrive at the table, followed by Erwin and Mike, and lastly Moblit. Petra attends clubs on Tuesdays and Fridays, so she isn’t here. Eld and Gunther have sports on Fridays and Auruo has band practice.

Before, I used to pack my own lunch in the evenings for the next school day, but mom insisted to be the one to make my lunches from here on. I let her, because it’s weirdly nice to be able to experience having a mom do mom things for me.

She handed me a hefty blue drawstring satchel this morning, but I hadn’t looked inside yet.

Needless to say I was shocked when I pulled out a two-tiered black lacquer bento, a spoon and chopstick case, cloth napkin, a water bottle, and a small silver thermos.

She sure hadn’t pulled any stops.

“Wow,” Moblit muttered.

“What, no champagne?” Nanaba joked.

The food itself was just as, if not more impressive.

The bottom level was rice sprinkled with toasted sesame seeds and mixed pickled vegetables in a crisp and tangy vinegar sauce. The top level was what I recognized to be falafel balls, Kalamata olives, a small container of tzatziki sauce, and a wrapped triangle of baklava. An ice pack had kept the lunch cool. The silver thermos contained black tea, still steaming.

Good lord.

I sat stunned for several moments before texting back mom telling her how incredible the lunch was. Heck of a lot better than a sandwich and an apple like I was used to.

In all, my first day back is going smoother than I had dare hoped.

**OoOoOoOoO**

“You must be really fucked up to have wanted to stay with that pedophile.”

My back is to the voice speaking, so I don’t know which of the smarmy fuckers sneering at me is going to be the first to get a broken nose when I turn around. But before I take one step further, Erwin has me firmly by the arm and drags me to our next class, the last of the day. He lets me go once we’re inside and I contemplate going right back out again to figure out whose face I need to bash in, but quickly decide that’s impulsive and stupid.

“They’re assholes and you know it. Don’t bother with them,” Erwin says simply, pulling out a sheet of paper and pencil to start working on the warm-up scrawled on the whiteboard.

I nod once. My fists are still clenched.

It’s stupid. _They’re_ stupid. They don’t know a damn thing and they’re just fishing for a reaction because they can.

But as I’m packing up my supplies at the end of class, it’s still on my mind.

“ _You must be really fucked up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some stray kudos and comments as of late made me remember that this story was still thing that exists. So yeah. Thanks.


	6. Filthiest Card in the Deck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi starts therapy. Family, friends, self-doubt, and hope converge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you aware of the tags? Be aware of them tags.

Mom is right where we agreed on and I’m there to be picked up right when I said I’d be. As always, I open the back passenger door first to put my black bag on the seat before closing it and slipping into the shotgun. Routine.

_Not routine_.

“Are you okay? You’re frowning,” mom says, looking over her shoulder for traffic before pulling away from the curb.

(It’s all the same but it’s not the same at all and I don’t know I feel about this.)

“Yeah. School was okay. I have a lot of work to catch up on. Thanks again for lunch, it was… it was just really great.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Do you want to accompany me to the grocery store before we head back? Or I can drop you off and go myself if you prefer? Or I’ll have you dad pick up a few things on his way back. He said he’d be leaving work early today anyway.”

“No, I’ll go with you now. That’s fine.”

And I mean it. I rarely got to go to the grocery store before. Usually only when _he_ had to pick up a couple things, and even then he preferred to have me stay in the car while he ran in. That was the old normal. This was my opportunity to establish the new.

We get inside the grocery store and I don’t really know what to do with myself.

What are you supposed to go when you go grocery shopping with you mom? Hover in the general vicinity of the cart? Wander around aimlessly? This isn’t even the grocery store where my food came from. Would they have the same things?

“What sorts of things do you like to eat, Rivaille?”mom asks, placing a can of garbanzo beans into the cart.

“Erm. Mostly anything. I’m not too picky. Nothing spicy, I guess.”

“I’m thinking pasta tonight. Sound good?”

“Can we have cheesy garlic bread?”

The words come out of my mouth reflexively, but mom is smiling.

“Cheesy garlic bread it is.”

**OoOoOoOoO**

I’m coming to terms with the fact that one of my greatest difficulties will be sorting through my experiences growing up. I’m now constantly second guessing myself in trying to figure out which aspects are truly normal, and which things are sick perversions that I was made to think were normal. It’s stressful as all hell.

Sometimes I want to _ask_ , but I don’t want to risk sounding like… like some fucked up kid.

Obviously, anything sexual is a total no. Even the thought makes me gag. ( _But the thought of having sex with daddy still makes me want-)_ I make myself cut away from the line of thought.

But then some things are straddling the line. Kissing on the mouth is always sexual. Mom kissing the top of my head isn’t. Neck kissing is probably sexual. Any kiss that lasts too long is probably pushing it. Rubbing rough circles on my upper back is apparently fine. But rubbing slower circles on the lower back? I have no clue. I don’t know how personal space _works_ anymore.

I used to sit on daddy’s lap all the time, and things only came of it half of the time or less. But _dad_ never asks if I’d like to climb onto his lap.

I don’t walk around the house naked anymore. I don’t sleep in the nude.

I never realized how many little things I did were things normal families didn’t _do_.

When in doubt now, I just keep my distance. Better that then suffer embarrassment.

All this aside, there is a… somewhat more pressing issue.

I used to have sex. A _lot_ of sex.

My body was used to a certain… frequency. If not routine, I’m accustomed to getting off on a very regular basis, and now I’m cut off cold turkey. Sure, I can take care of myself fine, but it’s not the same at all. It’s not even necessarily about the sex. It’s about that certain intimacy that you can only get from sex. It has been about a week and I’m itching with need.

The most frustrating thing is I don’t see any sort of solution. I’m not bloody legal for over two years. And I don’t _want_ to go out and just find someone for a mindless fuck. Just of idea of that disgusts me. It all sucks because I want my _daddy_. Daddy knows just the right way to take care of me.

I don’t even have fucking toys. It’s probably not even fucking legal to go and buy some at my age.

In all I’m embarrassed and frustrated, and I end up being even more irritable than usual, which Hanji blatantly remarks on.

Mom and dad notice too, but don’t say anything.

I hate that I’m making them worry, so I finally suck up my pride and admit that I want to see a psychologist or therapist or whatever the fuck I need.

**OoOoOoOoO**           

Our family has a new schedule.

On Tuesdays the three of us are to go in for group counseling, and Thursdays I’ll be seeing one privately.

On Friday Hoover and Braun are going to have me come down to the CPS office to start collecting evidence through my testimony or some shit. I’m silently dreading it.

The first group session ends up not being a big deal. The psychologist, Rico, says that our first appointment is going to be spent just getting comfortable and all familiarized with one another. She tells us a bit about herself, including her education and history of working with adolescents. Her demeanor is reserved and professional, which works for me.  

She asks if there are any immediate concerns she should be made aware of. Dad notes the panic attack, which Rico nods and writes into her notes. She shows me a breathing exercise and says to let her know of any future ones.

We talk about how I’m settling into school and what my grades are like. She asks about what kind of activities we’ve done so far as a family.

Our first session lasts and hour and Rico lets us go, reminding us that I’ll be seeing her one on one Thursday.

This is doable. I can manage this.  

**OoOoOoOoO**

I convince mom to let me start taking the bus home from school and to and from Thursday sessions. She hates the idea, but grudgingly accepts the practicality. I don’t want her to quit her job just to take care of me.

I’ve never taken the bus before, and I’m not really looking forward to it. Buses, like all manner of public transportation, are filthy and uncomfortable.

But, the bus has an attractive payoff. I get to stay at school for an extra twenty minutes. Meaning, I get to actually socialize with my friends. Further, Hanji also takes the bus.

“Hey, Levi?”

“What?”

“We were thinking about seeing a movie this weekend. Mike, Hanji, Petra, everyone. Then maybe getting frozen yogurt afterwards. Want to come?”

My mouth is forming the usual words of usual rejection before I pause. _Can I?_

“Levi?”

“I… Uh…”

“… How about you ask your parents at dinner tonight?” Erwin suggests carefully.

He gets it.

I want to go, but now that going may be on the table… I feel anxious and I _don’t understand why_.

**OoOoOoOoO**

“Erwin invited me out this weekend to the movies with a bunch of our friends. Maybe nine of us in all.”

“That’s great! Do you want a ride?”

“I can go?”

I didn’t mean to sound so surprised.

And then it’s another one of those awkward little moments again. That little moment where we’re all registering that there’s something a little weird about me and why that is. And then mom and dad feel the need to make a subtle little nudge to correct me and encourage normal behavior. It’s loving and it’s sweet, but it also hurts that this is necessary.

“Of course. Just make sure you text us when the movie is out, so we know where you are.”

“We… might want to get frozen yogurt afterwards?”

I didn’t mean to make it sound like a question.

“That’s fine too.”

Dad ruffles my hair and we continue dinner.

**OoOoOoOoO**

“Before we begin, do you have any comments or concerns you’d like us to address first?” Rico asks, eyes still down as she jots down notes efficiently.

I pause, considering if I really want to say what I’m about to. It’s embarrassing as all get out, but like hell I’m going to ignore it for any longer.

I cross my arms and straighten up my posture, but I can’t make myself look her in the eye.

“When living with… Kenny… I was accustomed to a certain… regularity of sex. Obviously I’m not getting that anymore and… it’s driving me fucking nuts. I’m feeling like I’m crawling out of my skin and I don’t know to do about it.”

The moment of quiet is fucking palpable.

“How about we begin by talking about it? Are you comfortable with that?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

I honestly don’t think talking is going to resolve this, but what the hell do I know. I can’t do anything without doubting myself these days.

“With what sort of regularity were you having sex?”

“At least every other day.”

“How did you feel about engaging in sexual acts with Mr. Ackerman?”

“Tch… He was my _parent_ , I know… but it was just so-“

**OoOoOoOoO**

“-Normal. Just tell me if the discomfort becomes painful, alright?”

“Okay daddy…”

“There’s a good boy,” he whispers to me, crooking his lubed finger.

My face and shoulders are smushed into one of the fluffy pillows of our bed. I’m propped up on my knees, legs spread and ass in the air.

The curtains completely cover the windows, but I know it to be a deeply overcast, frigid winter evening, only a couple weeks before Christmas. Despite this, our bedroom is cozy. The heating is on, but dad knows how easily I get cold, so he’s running the space heater to supplement it. A crooning melody plays from the ipod dock on our dresser. The lights are low, giving a soft yellow glow to the room. It’s a world of our own.

A slick hand starts to languidly stroke my dick and suddenly I don’t really mind the foreign sensation of a finger up my ass.

Daddy mentioned wanting to try some new things with me, but I didn’t give it much thought until he actually told me what he’d be doing. I was skeptical to say the least. Still am, to be honest. The finger isn’t doing anything for me other than make me feel embarrassed and weird.

Then, one becomes two.

There’s a twinge of pain that has me hissing, but I’m already deciding that the pain isn’t so bad before I voice a complaint.

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Mmm fine.”

The stroking outside starts to sync up with the stroking inside. And daddy starts doing new stuff. Twisting his fingers, curving them, scissoring them apart… all while sliding them _in_ … _and out_ … _in_ … _and out_.

It’s not uncomfortable anymore. It even maybe feels… sorta good?

Daddy takes his hand off my dick and I only make a small sound of protest because two becomes _three_.

Then out of left field the fingers that were hooking me up towards the ceiling turn 180 and press _down_ on _something_. And that something has me arching up and trembling with raw pleasure.

Daddy is saying words but they don’t register _at all_.

All I know is that I’m trying to get that feeling again and again and _again_. The merciful fingers oblige, massaging circles on that magic spot inside me.

It isn’t long before my legs collapse and I reach orgasm. Dad holds me as I come down from my high. I don’t ejaculate yet like daddy does. He says I’ll probably start doing that in two or three years. I’m just not old enough.

“You were right, daddy…” I mumble.

It was weird, but I want to do it again sometime.

I feel a kiss on my temple.

“I love you, Levi.”

“I love you too.”

_And I meant it_.

**OoOoOoOoO**

I text mom and dad on the bus on the way home that I’m out of therapy. The routine of giving these status updates calms me. Maybe it’s just an addiction to the feeling of being ‘kept.’ Looked after.

I said a lot to Rico over than one hour session, but I feel like I barely scratched the surface my fucked up history. Barely anything at all.

In our last minutes together Rico gave me a sturdy, spiral bound black notebook with instructions to write anything I felt like it in. Memories, questions, regrets, concerns. Not even just on my past. I could write about school or my friends or really anything. Then I should put down a star by anything I thought I might want to discuss in our next session. I’m supposed to fill at least one page every day but Rico says to write to my heart’s content.

I had thought that we’d just sit down and I’d hash out my memories as chronologically as I could manage, but I was wrong. That’s what tomorrow is going to be for.

**OoOoOoOoO**

“The earliest thing I can remember is… probably… we used to live in this really tiny house. With this hideous yellow front door. We… had a grey and red footstool in front of the bathroom sink so that I could reach to wash my hands. I remember… throwing a tantrum about… I’m not sure what, but he picked me up and wrapped me in a blanket and held me until I ran out of energy from yelling and kicking.”

I spend two fucking hours telling them about things I remember just from living in that one house. We couldn’t have lived there for more than a year. This is going to take forever.

Mom and dad are with me. They offered to let me tell my story privately, but I wanted them to stay. At least for now. I’m not so sure I want them hearing about the things that happened later on.

Reiner is the one asking the questions, and Bert’s taking notes. They use an audio recorder, but no video.

I feel stupid rambling about all these details that don’t mean anything, but they’re insistent that every little thing matters.

Then it becomes apparent why.

“He had you wear a collar?” Reiner interrupts my recollection.

I pause.

“Well, I mean. It was optional? He didn’t… force it around my neck or anything… He said that I could pick out my favorite color, so I picked a dark green one with a bell, like a cat would wear.”

Hoover and Braun exchange a grim look. My parents have gone pale. Damn this.

“It’s not… like that. He didn’t put me on a leash or… it wasn’t _sexual_. Err. Not _at the time_ , anyway.”

Grim becomes alarmed. A sort of alarmed they’re trying to disguise. And now I feel upset, like I need to be defensive about my past.

“I was _five_! I know even then some of the things we did were fucked up, but we were hardly up to doing _BDSM_ or anything. I liked the look of the collar, so he let me wear it around the house. It…”

I’m not getting through to them. But I guess that just means that this is another thing that _I_ don’t get. Something that I thought was normal _wasn’t_. My normal is their freakish. I feel so _frustrated_.

“Can we just… fucking get to the next question already…”

**OoOoOoOoO**

I do some half-assed googling after dinner about pedophiles.

Apparently, they “groom” their victims. They’ll lower the child’s inhibitions. Establish emotional connections.

I’m not three minutes into reading before I’m exiting the browser and powering down my laptop.

I thought that wearing a collar was just for fun. Like girls wear necklaces. But Kenny had been manipulating me all along. At first it’s just a fun little collar. Then it’s cat ears. And they’re _cute_ and he tells you as much. Dress up. A _game_ that makes you feel good about yourself. Then it turns to pink fuzzy bracelets (little do I know they’re actually _handcuffs_ ). Then you get a leash and when he already has you blowing him it all moves into the bedroom with tailed butt plugs and gags _oh god_.

**OoOoOoOoO**

There’s a knock at my door.

“Rivaille? I have hot chocolate. I can also make tea if you want that instead.”

I can’t answer because I’m having a panic attack and my breath is short and I’m trying to go through the stupid exercise that Rico taught me for when this inevitably happened again.

“Rivaille?”

Fuck. Dad’s worried.

“Rivaille, I’m coming in.”

I’m on my floor hands and knees desperately trying to regain control.

“ _Shit_. Mikasa!” Dad yells, quickly putting down the mug on my desk and crouching over me.

He gently maneuvers me onto my side and cups a hand lightly over my mouth.

“You’re hyperventilating. Pace your breaths in ten second intervals.”

He counts for me, and I do my best to follow his instructions. It’s a while before I can make it to ten seconds in and out consistently.

“I’m so fucked up,” I croak out.

“Don’t say that, Rivaille. It’s not true.”

“It _is_.”

“What you _went through_ was… fucked up. How you’re dealing with it is normal. Normal and healthy. We’ll help you through a dozen panic attacks a day if that’s what it takes. You can yell and cry and scream if it’s what it takes to make you feel better. You can talk and we’ll listen. That’s what parents are for. We’ll do whatever it takes for you, Rivaille. Anything and everything and we’ll still love you.”

“I… I can’t stop _thinking_ about him…” I confess miserably. I’m crying on the filthy ground. I’ve completely lost control.

They sandwich me in their hugs.

“I wasn’t _unhappy_. That might be the worst part. That I can look back with a smile on things that would _horrify_ you. Logically… I know there were awful things, but… when I try to think about them that way I just end up feeling shitty and gross. It’s like I want to be happy with what I have now but the only way to do it is to look back and paint myself as a victim. I don’t want to be that kid who _survived_. I just want to keep on feeling like that normal kid who had a happy childhood. It’s as if my only two options are ‘Go back and rewrite your entire past up to this point as misery and lies and try to move on,’ or ‘hold on to the good feelings and life you’re accustomed to but realize that it’s probably going to mentally screw you up for the rest of your life.’”

I’m pouring my heart out on my bedroom floor and I can’t stop.

“And I want to be able to _share_ with you who I am, but I can’t do that without letting you know about… Like… how am I supposed to tell you stories about the times _daddy_ read stories to me in bed and how much fun I had when he bought me ice cream that time we walked on the pier? How he’d kiss my cuts and scrapes after he bandaged them and how he’d sit me on his lap when teaching me constellations? For me, it’s _who I am_. For you, it’s a sick pedophile abusing your son. I can’t _do_ that to you. No matter what I do or say it _hurts_.”

We’re all fucking crying. I feel like a wet towel being wringed out.

“We’re going to figure this out. I promise. We’re a family,” dad says.

Maybe we _will_ figure it out. If anything, I feel at least marginally better having bled my heart out.

“Can we… reheat that hot chocolate _and_ have tea?”

“For you? Anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want Hanji to be they/them in this story, so let me know if I've accidentally used a she/her.  
> And fuck if I know how to use italics.  
> Oh, and the chapter titles are tiny snippets pulled from The Selected Poetry of Raine Maria Rilke, Edited and Translated by Stephen Mitchell.


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